As Dog Is My Witness (13 page)

I looked over at Biggest, who had neither moved nor
spoken. “I really can’t see that well,” I said to Bigger. “Is he
alive?”

“Do you want to
stay
alive?” Bigger
answered.

“What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?” I
screamed, hoping someone would call the cops about the noise. “Who
are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?
Why
should I
stop reporting on Michael Huston’s murder?”

Big nodded, acknowledging the question. “Because Mr.
Shapiro doesn’t like it,” he said.

Mr. Shapiro! I kept up the brave front, although I
had to pretend my hands were shaking from the cold.

“And who’s this Mr. Shapiro?” I asked, outwardly
unconcerned. So what if my intestines had gone liquid.

“Don’t waste my time,” Bigger said. He reached into
his pocket.

“Don’t shoot me,” I said. “With all these clothes on,
it would just be a waste of a good bullet.”

“Is that what you think? That we’re gonna shoot you?”
Big looked serious, as if he were considering the idea. But his
hand came out of his pocket with a piece of hard candy, which he
struggled to unwrap with his gloves on. Nice work, Tucker,
suggesting your own demise to three woolly mammoths in the
dark.

“Be very careful about sudden movements,” I said.
“This dog doesn’t like it when people threaten me.”

They took a look at Warren’s little beagle face and
long basset ears, and laughed—except Biggest.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you,” I said. “He’s
vicious. Bit three mailmen . . .  yesterday.”

They laughed louder. Maybe I could humor them into
letting me live. Visions of Leah crying at my funeral didn’t make
me feel very comical.

“You’re kidding, right?” said Bigger. “That’s a toy
dog.” He bent his knees to pet Warren.

Warren, to his everlasting salvation and my
amazement, growled and snapped at Bigger’s hand. Bigger recoiled
with astonishment and stood up. “Hey . . .  he
said.

Warren growled louder, and barked, baring his teeth.
I couldn’t believe it.

“Nobody’s getting hurt,” said Big. “We had a message
to deliver, and we delivered it. That’s all.”

“So you don’t mind if I take my dog home now?”

“Course not,” said Big. “Nobody means no harm.” I
started to walk Warren past the three men.

“Just remember what we said,” Bigger reminded me.

As I passed Biggest, I looked over my shoulder at
him. “Keep it down,” I told him. “People around here are trying to
sleep.”

Warren and I double-timed it home, although he had to
stop to do what a walk is for about half a block from the house. I
made it all the way into the house before I did the same.

I crept silently into our bedroom and closed the door
as quietly as I could, but as I climbed into bed (after leaving my
Admiral Byrd outfit in the bathroom), Abby stirred and put her hand
on my shoulder.

I took her into my arms and held her tight. “I’m
sorry,” I said.

T
here were just two more
school days before the kids started “Winter Break,” which we used
to call by its real name, “Christmas Vacation.” Separation of
church and state being what it is in this country, it’s okay to
have Christmas trees in municipal buildings, and to sing all about
the birth of Jesus in public schools, but you’d better not call it
“Christmas Vacation.” Maybe it’s me.

I knew there were two days left before Winter Break
because Ethan had made a point of walking into the kitchen every
morning for the past two weeks and, in a loud, clear voice,
announcing exactly how many days were left until Winter Break.
Today was no exception.

I was making lunches for Leah and Ethan—making
Ethan’s lunch consists of taking the proper pre-packaged
ingredients and putting them in a lunch bag—when he marched in
without greeting and called out “ten more hours!”

“It’s two days,” I corrected.

“Ten hours
in school
,” he said, correcting my
correction. Apparently, last night’s tussle had faded into the
recesses of his memory, and he was back to a jaunty mood. He hadn’t
noticed Dylan sitting at the kitchen table, drinking organic orange
juice that Abby had bought special, to Howard’s specifications.

“Ten hours,” Dylan chirped, aping Ethan’s
high-pitched voice. I shot a dark look in Dylan’s direction, and he
gazed innocently at me, as if someone else had been mocking my son.
Before she left for work, Abby had again asked me to hold my
feelings in check with the visiting Steins, and therefore avoid any
possible strains on
her
feelings. People who work outside
the home are cowards. I didn’t react verbally to Dylan.

Howard and Andrea strode out through the basement
door while I was putting the kids’ lunches into their backpacks.
After all, it was after seven in the morning, they were on
vacation, and they were sleeping in. They were fully dressed, and
my guess was that the basement was neater now than it had been in
months. I went upstairs to see if Leah, who actually had to
be
somewhere at eight, was out of bed yet.

She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, so I went
back downstairs and into the kitchen. Ethan had poured himself some
cereal and was eating it, as usual without milk. Dylan, who clearly
considered this scandalous, watched wide-eyed while his parents
drank the coffee Abby had made for them. I avoid coffee, mostly
because it tastes like raw sewage, so I’m bad at brewing the stuff.
I’m told coffee drinkers can taste a difference.

Ethan wasn’t looking in Dylan’s direction, so he
didn’t see the stares. This, naturally, frustrated Dylan, so he
decided to bring his astonishment out into the open.

“You eat cereal without milk?” His voice rose about
half an octave.

Ethan, wondering if eating dry cereal was something
he shouldn’t do, looked into the bowl, then back at Dylan, and
nodded. “Yeah. I like it that way.”

“How can you
do
that?”

I looked over at him. Suppressing the fury I badly
wanted to express, I said evenly, “Dylan . . . 

Howard looked up from the
New York Times
I was
supposed to be reading. “He’s just exhibiting a healthy curiosity,
Aaron,” he said. But Andrea, doing her best to be tolerant of the
“afflicted” boy, shook her head sadly.

“He’s not being sensitive,” she told her husband.

Ethan was now confused about his breakfast, which is
the last thing he needed. He stood and poured the remainder of his
cereal into the garbage can under the sink. I clamped my jaws shut,
and Ethan, knowing the next step in the morning ritual, headed for
the kitchen counter, where his Ritalin is kept.

My son takes fifteen milligrams of Ritalin before
school every morning, and another ten after lunch at school. It
helps him focus on his schoolwork, smoothes his moods, and
generally makes it easier for him to get through the day. Even
within the Asperger community, there’s considerable debate about
the benefit of Ritalin, but for my kid, it makes a beneficial
difference. If you think Ritalin’s bad, I suggest you don’t give it
to your kid.

I took the pills out of the separate bottles (one ten
milligram tablet, one five) and handed them to Ethan, who had
already poured himself a little orange juice. Now, Dylan was
practically hemorrhaging from amazement.

“Are you
sick
?” he asked Ethan in an
exaggerated voice. “Are you
contagious
?”

“All right,” I said. “That’s enough.”

Andrea walked over to her fifteen-year-old son, put
an arm around his broad shoulder, and talked to Dylan like he had
just discovered a man was making Elmo move. “Remember what we told
you about Ethan,” she said soothingly. “He just needs a little help
with his . . . 
condition.
”

“Oh, please!” I said. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“His
condition
? What is he, pregnant?”

Howard frowned at this outpouring of messy emotion.
“Really, Aaron,” he said, “is this necessary?” If only he’d been
smoking a pipe, the effect would have been perfect. And wearing a
captain’s hat, that would have been good, too.

I ignored him, which came naturally to me, and walked
over to Dylan. “Ethan is fine,” I told him. “There’s
nothing
wrong with Ethan. The meds help him concentrate, and I guarantee
you, six kids in every one of your classes take higher doses and
act up more.”

Ethan, to his credit, shrugged off the whole thing
and was heading for the door about the time Leah came downstairs.
We bid Ethan a good day as he donned a sweatshirt with a hood, the
only outerwear he will tolerate, to protect himself against the
frigid weather. He’d be a half hour early for school, but luckily,
on a day like today, they let the kids wait inside the school.

Leah and I have a routine we do every morning, where
she finishes brushing her hair (a long and intricate process), then
comes and sits in my lap in my office chair and tells me a riddle.
I wasn’t sure if she’d be interested in doing that today, with
people watching, and sure enough, she didn’t make a move toward me
after the Brushing of the Hair had been completed.

As he pored over the Business Section, Howard, I
could tell, was itching to discuss my awful breach of conduct with
his son (or rather, to explain to me how I was wrong), but wasn’t
willing to talk to me about that with others present. I was
becoming something of an underground success—everybody wanted to
talk to me, but they didn’t want anyone else to know it.

Andrea, unfortunately, had no such compunction. When
I retreated to my office, she followed me in and hissed in a low
voice, “You shouldn’t get so angry, Aaron. Dylan is just
curious.”

“Don’t confuse curiosity with maliciousness, Andrea.
He wants to get a rise out of Ethan, and I’m not going to allow it.
Ethan has a rough enough time getting through the day without
provocation before he leaves the house.”

“I know you think I’m just an airhead, but I’m not,”
she replied. “I’m trying to be understanding.”

“I don’t think you’re an airhead,” I told her. “I
think you’re unwilling to see the flaws in your own son, and so you
concentrate on what you see as the flaws in mine, and you
rationalize your behavior by pretending to worry about Ethan. Ethan
doesn’t need your sympathy—he needs a little help. But he’s smarter
than all of us, and, believe me, he’ll do just fine.”

Cornered, she reverted to second grade behavior. “My
son may tease, but your son
bites
,” Andrea said.

Andrea would have further retaliated, but Leah walked
through on her way to the front door, and I got up to intercept
her, leaving Andrea alone to be understanding. As Leah put on her
backpack, I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Let’s hear
it.”

A sly smile appeared on her face. “How many letters
are there in the alphabet?” she whispered.

I’ve learned never to guess correctly, even when I’m
sure I know the answer. The trick here is to send the child off to
school with a victory behind her. Besides, I didn’t know what the
correct answer was, since “twenty-six” was clearly wrong. “I don’t
know,” I said quietly.

“Eleven,” she said. “T-H-E A-L-P-H
. . .  She counted on her fingers to illustrate.

“Very funny,” I said. “Now, go to school.” She kissed
me and walked out, giggling.

Now, the hard part. I walked back into the kitchen.
Dylan had gone upstairs to play video games. Ethan, after all, was
no longer around to get in his way. And Howard, face stern and
disciplinary, stood from the table when I entered.

“Aaron,” he began to intone.

“I’d love to have this discussion now, Howard,” I
told him, “but I have to go see the chief of police, and then
follow a rental car mechanic. It’s a full morning.”

That took him by surprise. “A rental car mechanic,”
he repeated. “Um, why . . . ?”

“I do that every Thursday,” I said. “Don’t you?”

“Before you leave, perhaps you can help us,” he said.
“We’re going into Manhattan today to take Dylan to the Guggenheim,”
he said. “But we need to drop off the rental car first.”

“Why? Aren’t you going to be using the car this
week?”

He seemed startled. “My sister said we could use your
car,” Howard said.

“My car? The Saturn?”

“Abby said it would be all right.”

“Funny, she didn’t mention it to me.” She knew I
hated driving the minivan.

“I’m not lying, Aaron.”

“I don’t think you are. So what’s the problem,
Howard?”

“Perhaps you’d follow us to the rental office and
drive us back to your place. Once we drop off the car, we’ll have
no way to get here.”

Much as the idea of them with no way to get back
appealed to me, I was confused. “Why doesn’t one of you just drive
the Saturn and follow the other to the rental place?”